The people stormed and raged at him, and you could see dozens of
them stretch their fists above the sea of torch-lighted faces and
shake them at him; and it was all a wild picture, and stirring to
look at; and the priest was a first-rate part of it, too, for he stood
there in the strong glare and looked down on those angry people in
the blandest and most indifferent way, so that while you wanted to
burn him at the stake, you still admired the aggravating coolness of
him. And his winding-up was the coolest thing of all. For he told
them how, at the funeral of our old King, the French King-at-Arms
had broken his staff of office over the coffin of "Charles VI. and
his dynasty," at the same time saying, in a loud voice, "Good grant
long life to Henry, King of France and England, our sovereign
lord!" and then he asked them to join him in a hearty Amen to that!
The people were white with wrath, and it tied their tongues for the
moment, and they could not speak. But Joan was standing close
by, and she looked up in his face, and said in her sober, earnest
way:

"I would I might see thy head struck from thy body!"--then, after a
pause, and crossing herself--"if it were the will of God."

This is worth remembering, and I will tell you why: it is the only
harsh speech Joan ever uttered in her life. When I shall have
revealed to you the storms she went through, and the wrongs and
persecutions, then you will see that it was wonderful that she said
but one bitter thing while she lived.

From the day that that dreary news came we had one scare after
another, the marauders coming almost to our doors every now and
then; so that we lived in ever-increasing apprehension, and yet
were somehow mercifully spared from actual attack. But at last
our turn did really come. This was in the spring of '28. The
Burgundians swarmed in with a great noise, in the middle of a dark
night, and we had to jump up and fly for our lives. We took the
road to Neufchteau, and rushed along in the wildest disorder,
everybody trying to get ahead, and thus the movements of all were
impeded; but Joan had a cool head--the only cool head there--and
she took command and brought order out of that chaos. She did
her work quickly and with decision and despatch, and soon turned
the panic flight into a quite steady-going march. You will grant
that for so young a person, and a girl at that, this was a good piece
of work.

She was sixteen now, shapely and graceful, and of a beauty so
extraordinary that I might allow myself any extravagance of
language in describing it and yet have no fear of going beyond the
truth. There was in her face a sweetness and serenity and purity
that justly reflected her spiritual nature. She was deeply religious,
and this is a thing which sometimes gives a melancholy cast to a
person's countenance, but it was not so in her case. Her religion
made her inwardly content and joyous; and if she was troubled at
times, and showed the pain of it in her face and bearing, it came of
distress for her country; no part of it was chargeable to her
religion.

A considerable part of our village was destroyed, and when it
became safe for us to venture back there we realized what other
people had been suffering in all the various quarters of France for
many years--yes, decades of years. For the first time we saw
wrecked and smoke-blackened homes, and in the lanes and alleys
carcasses of dumb creatures that had been slaughtered in pure
wantonness--among them calves and lambs that had been pets of
the children; and it was pity to see the children lament over them.

And then, the taxes, the taxes! Everybody thought of that. That
burden would fall heavy now in the commune's crippled condition,
and all faces grew long with the thought of it. Joan said:

"Paying taxes with naught to pay them with is what the rest of
France has been doing these many years, but we never knew the
bitterness of that before. We shall know it now."

And so she went on talking about it and growing more and more
troubled about it, until one could see that it was filling all her
mind.